The Last Song
by Mariel Nightstalker
Summary: Sephiroth meditates on his vanished lover. Songfic CROSSOVER SLASH Sephiroth/Harry Potter


Note: The title and mood/inspiration can be credited to Iggy Azalea.

Is this a series with True Blue? I'm not sure. They share a common theme: Harry/FF7 breakup.

…I don't know... I'm tired. Bear with me, loyal readers.

**The Last Song**

"_I wish I could be the only angel he need to be strong…"_

_-Iggy Azalea, "The Last Song"_

They met under harsh fluorescent lighting to the strains of a young woman's twisted love affair with a no-good thug. He should've known that their song should have been the last song and the first, not the start of an affair.

Sephiroth found a way to escape his office at ShinRa headquarters. He lied to his assistant for the first time and took a "long lunch" from which he had no intention of returning.

Right now he was eating a doughnut and watching pedestrians. He watched a young woman in galoshes walking in the park. She set each foot down hard and flat as she walked, one at a time, which made her body shake. A small man and his smaller dog strolled past, accompanied by a massive auburn dog like a bodyguard. It had an expression like an anxious teenager.

A gust of wind heavily scented with truck exhaust rustled the branches of the trees. Raindrops leftover from last hour's showers pattered down, speckling his abandoned newspaper. The rain made him sad. The man with his dogs made him sad. Or maybe he was already sad, and just looking for new targets to paint with his feelings.

Why shouldn't he be sad? He'd checked the library's psychology database- if he _wasn't _sad under the circumstances, there was something wrong with him. Still, he wasn't used to experiencing sustained emotion like this. After all, it'd been a year since Harry left him – gone in the space of one night, gone as suddenly as he arrived. There was no note, no goodbye the night before after their final session of lovemaking. The sterile Shinra-assigned quarters still smelled like him and the onion soup he'd cooked (and convinced Sephiroth to eat) the night before.

"I'm pathetic."

The remark was not directed at anyone in particular. There were no birds, no insects, and certainly no rodents. Nothing untainted by Mako could survive within a 60-mile radius of Midgar now, not that it was being broadcasted. The ever-expanding desert was also left in the shadows to creep slowly up the spines of those positioned high and low enough to feel the subtle shifts in the planet's cycle. It was Harry who first drew his attention to the death that surrounded and hovered over Midgar like an infectious disease. Now that his eyes (and heart) were open, Sephiroth didn't know how to close them again. He wished that he could. Keeping them open was hard work, and it hurt.

His chest never hurt this bad before Harry left. Harry pried him open to find a place to settle in like a bear seeking a cozy place to hibernate, behaving all the while like he'd never ever leave.

They'd met at the train station very late one winter night. Harry was obviously cold and obviously homeless, huddled into the corner of the empty station as close to the warm drain as possible. Sephiroth watched him for some time before he addressed him with a warning that the police regularly evicted loiterers from public transit stations. He could still remember the way Harry laughed, standing to join him by the tracks.

Sephiroth had never spoken to a street person. He hadn't spoken to many people, to be honest, and was surprised at how easy it was to unburden himself, to communicate as an equal with a total stranger. Harry didn't care that he spoke like a science textbook, that he struggled to make eye contact, or that he was the most feared man on Gaia. He just kept laughing and chatting away like they were old friends, matching Sephiroth's vocabulary and tossing him a few words he'd never heard before.

He bought Harry a ticket and, just before stepping on, a sandwich from the vending machine. Harry, free of pride, accepted these gifts with grace.

It took him a month to fully realize that he, General Sephiroth, science experiment, and general freak of nature, was having an _affair. _He once asked Harry what it meant to have an affair, and Harry answered that having an affair was wondering what the other did and thought about when you weren't there. Sephiroth thought about Harry constantly. Why did he leave? He knew Harry was troubled – of course he was! He was living on the streets when they met! There were bruises sometimes, and once a pair of broken teeth. Harry kept his secrets, though, and refused to let Sephiroth fight any of his battles for him. And then there were the drugs; nothing hard or too serious, but serious enough to make him worry when Harry didn't come back at night. Maybe that was what happened that night! Harry went out for a fix, something went wrong, and then – poof! Gone.

But somehow Sephiroth didn't think that was what happened. He'd done something, said something. Or maybe they were doomed from the start and he just didn't want to see it. He couldn't blame himself, even now. Harry was…one of a kind, special enough for him to put up with just about anything as long as he'd stay.

He began to pity himself but a sense of the absurdity of his thoughts made him smile.

A young man strolled past playing a small stereo out loud, bobbing his head in time to the beats. Sephiroth wasn't paying attention to him, though. The song was the song that he thought of, privately of course, as _their _song. The last song.

O

END


End file.
